


layin' down a law that i live by

by segmentcalled



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Break Up, Communication, Complicated Relationships, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, Healthy Relationships, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Queerplatonic Relationships, Recovery, Road Trips, Selkies, Sharing a Bed, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 11:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19851799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/segmentcalled/pseuds/segmentcalled
Summary: A selkie can change between their seal form and their human form by donning or removing their sealskin coat. The trouble is, if a selkie loses their coat, there's a whole lot of gross ancient magic that gets in the way of taking it back.Someone should do something about that. Or, uh, at the very least, someone should help Brian get his sealskin back, becauseyikes.





	layin' down a law that i live by

**Author's Note:**

> all i can do is get me past the ghost of you  
> wave goodbye to me, i won't say i'm sorry  
> i'll be alright, once i find the other side of someday  
> \- [gonna get over you](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUe3oVlxLSA), sara bareilles
> 
> another modern magic au! this one is truly and actually a oneshot and unrelated to crow dsfkgjds
> 
> there are some pretty frank discussions of unhealthy/manipulative/toxic romantic relationships in here; tread with caution, if that's something that you know will upset you.  
> in other news: i very (very) recently left a super unhealthy relationship and wrote this to finally give myself the courage to do so. a lot of this comes from a very, very real place, even though i've changed a lot of details so that it doesn't apply as 1:1 to my real life as it did in the first draft sdfkjgdh. aka, this fic is pretty much just 42 pages of 50% processing shit and 50% wish fulfillment

Brian David Gilbert may have, possibly, perhaps, gotten himself into a bit of a _pre-dic-a-ment_.

He’s a selkie in New York City. That’s not the issue. He’s even got his own pod here — his sister, his best friend. Leaving his home waters is not all that much different than leaving his house home, all things considered. He’s not, like, bound there. But he does visit, a fair amount, because he has things at home he misses when he’s away. It’s not too far to go home for a weekend, especially not if he and Laura go together.

It’s a Sunday night of one such weekend. Brian’s rummaging through his things, unpacking, throwing his dirty laundry across the room and missing the hamper by, like, a lot. His phone keeps buzzing with texts, but he can deal with that when he’s done unpacking. He knows who it is, anyway, and he can wait ten fucking minutes for once in his life for Brian’s undivided attention.

Uh, hang on.

“Laura?” Brian calls out.

“Yeah?” she shouts back from her room.

“Did I put my coat in your bag by accident?” They have the same backpack, but hers is navy blue instead of black, it’s not _impossible_ —

“No, I just went through it for my toothbrush. Why? Can’t you find it?” she says, her voice getting louder as she approaches his open bedroom door. She leans against the doorframe and raises a concerned eyebrow.

“I swear to god I had it this morning, I was _wearing_ it so I wouldn’t forget it.”

“Did you change what it looked like? Maybe you’re just looking for the wrong thing,” Laura says. “Or maybe you left it at home?”

“No, it’s still that hoodie. I was — oh, fuck,” he breathes. He can feel his expression drop into abject, outright horror.

He scrambles for his phone and unlocks it. There’s a handful of messages, but none say anything about it — fuck, he wouldn’t know, though, what it is, he’d have just assumed…

“What is it?” Laura says. And then she realizes, too, where Brian was for most of the day. “No. Bri. You didn’t…”

Brian’s fingers move quickly over the screen as he types: _Did I leave my hoodie at your place?_

The text he gets back is just a selfie, framed mostly of a torso that is, in fact, wearing Brian’s coat, and a smiling mouth.

Brian looks up at Laura. She looks back at him in dismay.

“You didn’t break up with him, did you,” she sighs. It’s not a question.

“I’m so fucked,” he whispers. His phone buzzes, with another text from the same person.

8:57 PM | Kevin Punt  
It was so nice to see you today!! Miss u already baby

Brian flings his phone away from himself and buries his face in his hands and tries not to _fucking scream_ in despair.

* * *

Brian is so entirely distracted at work, the next day, that Pat Gill wanders by when Jenna’s somewhere else and leans his hip against his desk.

“You alright?” he says, quietly enough that Clayton across from them won’t hear.

“Totally,” Brian says, lying through his teeth. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been staring blankly at your screen looking like you’re going to puke or punch something ever since you got in and, frankly, I would really rather you didn’t do either,” Pat says, his tone light but his expression serious.

Brian sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. Looks at his computer. Looks at Pat. Looks at his phone, which he fully turned off five minutes into work because he can’t, he just can’t today. Later he’ll say he was just super busy, sorry, can’t always talk during the workday. But apparently he’s still getting nothing done. And Pat’s looking at him with real concern, now.

“Did something happen?” Pat says.

“I, uh. Didn’t have a very good weekend,” Brian says.

Pat’s lips press together in a thoughtful line. He glances at the time on Brian’s computer. “I’d say eleven-thirty’s late enough for lunch, and I know I need a change of scenery. Wanna come?” he says.

Brian slides his phone into his back pocket as he stands, even though it’s still off. Pat pushes off the desk, and they walk side-by-side to the elevator.

Once they’re alone, Pat speaks again.

“Sorry if I, uh. I don’t want to push. It just seemed like — well. Like you might need to talk, or get some space, I guess, since I don’t think staring angrily at Adobe Premiere is going to help anyone. Much as I do that myself, hah, it might help if you actually opened something first.”

Shit. He hadn’t even — goddammit, he’s taking a lunch break and he’s not sure he’s even done a single thing today aside from try to talk himself down from a panic attack. “In theory,” he says, and manages a joking half-smile. Pat does not look fooled; Brian looks away, and they get to the first floor, so he doesn’t have to make any more eye contact with him at all, all the way down the block and around the corner, until they’re sitting down at a booth facing each other and have ordered their food and run out of stilted small-talk.

Brian fidgets with a straw wrapper, folding it up, making a tiny accordion of squares. Pat is watching his hands. He seems determined to wait Brian out, or let Brian change the course. Brian’s not even sure what he’s gonna say — how much of it he should tell Pat — ugh.

“I went home this weekend,” Brian says, and scrunches the straw wrapper into a ball. “Saw my boyfriend.”

“Oh?” says Pat, who may not have actually known Brian has a boyfriend, now that he thinks about it. He doesn’t make a point to mention it, under the circumstances.

“Yeah. His name’s Kevin. Been together for about two years,” Brian says, forced-casual. It is not a good act. Pat is studying him with those dark eyes, face perfectly neutral. Brian sighs and drags a hand backwards through his hair. “Things, uh. They haven’t been. Super great between us. For me, personally. For a, uh. For a while.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Pat murmurs, to fill Brian’s pause.

“Yeah, it. It sucks. Uh. Some shitty stuff happened last summer and he, uh, it turns out he’s got just — just a real manipulative streak. Which isn’t, y’know, great, for polyamory negotiations,” Brian says, with a grimace. Well, there’s part of it.

This does bring a little quirk of surprise to Pat’s expression, though he clamps down on it remarkably quickly. Brian appreciates that.

“He started dating this guy even though I super, super didn’t want him to. But I, uh, I have a hard time saying no, sometimes, to certain people. To him especially. And he, like, wouldn’t drop it? Even when I asked him to give me more time to decide. It was, like, forty-eight hours straight of me having a breakdown — I missed work and everything, it was while I was here, and you know how much I hate missing a day — and he kept saying things like, _why can’t you just trust me about this_ and _you’ve had hesitations about me seeing other people before_ and _I don’t ask for anything why can’t I just have this one thing_ and, and, just all that classic manipulative shit. Also that last was a straight-up fucking _lie_ , he asks for so much out of me constantly. I held out for so fucking long but a person only has so much stamina. There’s only so long you can hold your ground while having a full-throttle panic attack for before you just want it to fucking _stop_ ,” Brian says, and then is interrupted when their food gets there.

“Jesus, Brian,” Pat breathes, when the waiter is gone.

“Sorry,” Brian says, and winces. “That’s, uh. That’s pretty heavy. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry, please. It’s okay, I’m here to listen, I offered. You can keep going.”

So he does. “And like, for the record, I wasn’t opposed to him seeing other people. He’d had another partner, when he and I first got together, although they broke up a few months later. Like, that’s not an issue for me. But I had issues with some of the other people he’d wanted to date. And this person was — well, first of all, he fucking hates my guts, and second of all he was a fucking _asshole_ to Kevin. Like, they dated, broke up, and then last summer was when they got back together again. And he was such a piece of shit in the interim, dear god. But then suddenly for no real reason over the course of two weeks it was ‘hey how d’you feel about me having a friends with benefits situation with someone hypothetically’ and then ‘hey I’m, like, attracted to this guy again,’ and then, ‘hey I want to date him and I’m not taking no for an answer.’”

“That’s. That’s fucked up?” Pat says.

“For sure. It’s definitely super fucked up. And I guess I’ll give it this, the other guy hasn’t directly caused any issues for me since they got together. But, well, the whole situation completely fucking shattered any trust I had in Kevin. Like, just gone. But, like, I’m still stupid about him? I didn’t dump him on the spot because, like, fuck, I loved him. And I still do. Like, you’d — you’d think that him pulling that shit would make that stop but, uh, it’s not so easy. I wish it was. I was going to break up with him this weekend.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It, uh, it did not happen.”

“Did something else happen? Or was it just, seeing him again made it hard to go through with?”

“No. Well, I mean yeah, but I see him at least every couple weeks. Like, it’s long-distance, but not that long, y’know? But every time I try, I get scared and can’t go through with it.” God _dammit_ , his voice is getting shaky.

Pat looks pensive, at this. “Can I ask what you’re afraid of? If you don’t mind leading questions.”

“No, that’s good, actually. Thank you.” Brian takes a drink of water, as he considers this. “I guess, mostly, it’s been — worrying about how it’ll go. I’ve had my mind made up for a while now, but I don’t want it to go badly. I hate confrontation, and I know I’ll start crying and it’ll be a whole mess and there’s no way it won’t be shitty.”

Pat nods. “That makes sense.”

“So I keep thinking I’m going to, and knowing I’m going to, eventually, but I keep chickening out. But it’s, like, I can’t see a future with him. He’s not leaving Baltimore; I don’t plan to move back. And I just. I just plain don’t want to. I. I know I’ll be happier, if I leave him. But I can’t make myself do it.” _And there’s extenuating circumstances, now. Fuck._

“Breakups are really hard,” Pat says, sympathetic. “That’s super understandable.”

“Yeah. It’s just — it’s shit. It’s a whole bunch of shit, and I know I deserve better, but I can’t make myself leave,” Brian says. He runs a hand over his face. He’s had that gonna-cry feeling tight in his throat all day, but he hasn’t given in yet. He’s determined. “I just don’t know what to do, I guess.”

“Does anyone else know about this?” Pat says.

“Laura does. So does Jonah. I’ve mentioned to my mom I intend to break up with him, but I don’t think she knows if I have or haven’t yet. And you. And that’s, uh. That’s the list.”

“Sorry if this is, like, invasive, but like, do you have any other partners, too? Or is it just Kevin?”

“Not a romantic partner, at least not right now. I did for a while, and Jonah and I have been vaguely a thing before, but we work better platonically. Like, as in a QPR.”

“QPR?”

“Queerplatonic relationship. Like, uh, like committed partners, but no romance.”

“Okay. That’s cool,” Pat says.

“Google it, if you want. It’ll probably explain it better. But, yeah, that’s my whole deal, at the moment,” Brian says.

“Has he ever stopped you from dating someone? Also, like, you can definitely tell me to shut up if I’m getting too personal.”

“No, he hasn’t. He’s honestly made almost a point out of being _super fucking chill_ about it, since last year, just to prove how much of a deal it apparently shouldn’t be, according to him. I’ve had, uh, a casual partner or two, in the interim. Nothing serious. But, like, those weren’t things I would’ve objected to on his end, either. The only things I’ve had an issue with were people from fuckin’ hookup apps and his current boyfriend who is just _mean_. And that’s _it_. I just want him to be safe.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable,” Pat says. “And even if it wasn’t, even if you didn’t have super obvious reasons to say no, you’re within your rights to say no anyway. You should be able to say no to anything, full stop, and be listened to about it. Not — fuckin’ — pressured into saying yes because you can’t say no anymore. Like, _Jesus Christ_.”

“I know,” Brian says. He can feel the tears pricking at his eyes again, and wills them away. “I know. It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way: the partner he had when we first started dating dumped him because they, quote, needed to be able to say no to him. He still doesn’t understand. Still talks about it, sometimes. Can’t figure out what they meant.” Brian gives a watery, humorless laugh. “I sure get it, though.”

“God. Sounds like the dude could use some self-awareness,” Pat says.

Brian snorts. “Yeah. In a major way. It’s — god.” He sighs. “It’s genuinely so fucked. I’ve got this awful, like, knot of emotions about it, ‘cause I don’t — I don’t really — I don’t want to be with him anymore. But I do still have feelings for him? Which sucks, because, again, I can’t see us going anywhere from here. I’m straight-up just going through the motions. Which super isn’t healthy. It’s a mess. I want to just — ugh — do it, already, and stop freaking out, but — but I can’t.”

“Do you need, like, help? I don’t know what that’d consist of, but, I mean.” Pat gives a little shrug. “I’ve got your back, if you need it.”

“Thank you,” Brian says, maybe more earnestly than he means to. “I appreciate it. To be honest, I’m probably gonna have to go back soon, ‘cause I forgot some important shit at home. So. Theoretically I could do it then. Or through text, it wouldn’t be _unreasonable_ , under the circumstances, probably.” He grimaces. “I dunno. I don’t even know what I’d say.” He sighs.

“I totally get that,” Pat says. “I, uh. A few months after I moved here, my fiance and I broke up. Couldn’t agree on where our future should be set. It was — it was a little more mutual, I think, but starting that conversation… that’s not easy. Sorry. I’m not trying to make it about me —”

“No, I get it, sharing similar stories is a way to show empathy, you’re good,” Brian says, with a little smile. “Did it end up alright, though? I mean, like, obviously, you’re here, but like, did she —”

“He, actually,” Pat interrupts, with a little wry smile.

Brian’s eyes go wide with horrified embarrassment; he quickly covers his face with his hands. “Oh, jeez Louise, Pat Gill, I’m so sorry. You’d think I’d know not to _assume_ —”

Pat laughs. “It’s okay. I don’t advertise it, and I don’t really care how people interpret me. For the record, I am gay, but I don’t feel like coming out online and don’t really give a shit if people know or not. Like, if it comes up, sure, but if it’s not relevant then why bring it up, y’know? I dunno, you’re younger than me, I know people are more comfortable being open about it now, but. Uh. Conservative area growing up, never really leaves you, that whole deal. Sorry, I’ve gotten sidetracked again.”

“No, that’s okay! It makes me feel less bad about dumping all my shit on you, when I’m not the only one talking about personal stuff on a Monday lunch break.”

“That is more than understandable. I’m sorry you’ve got so much going on, that sounds… really fuckin’ stressful.”

“No kidding.” He sighs. Fuck, it’s not gonna get any less stressful anytime soon, either, not until he can figure out how to get his coat back. “We should probably get back soon, huh?”

“Maybe so. If you’re not done, though — like, if you need anything else, we’re both reasonably well enough behaved that no one’ll give us too much shit if we run late.”

“I think I’m alright. Ish. Better, maybe. Thank you for listening to all my relationship bullshit, I know it’s kind of a lot.”

“Anytime. For real,” Pat says, and he looks at Brian with such sincerity that it makes Brian’s heart melt, just a little.

Brian smiles at him, and Pat smiles back, the real genuine smile that actually goes to his eyes. The one that makes Brian a little weak in the knees.

He’ll admit it, okay: he’s got a great big crush on Pat Gill. Of course he does. Who wouldn’t? He’s fucking _pretty_ , in his scruffy way, with his long hair and those intense dark eyes, all angles and casual sharp wit. And, yeah, alright, he thought he had negative one thousand percent of a chance up until Pat’s gentle correction just now. Now it’s probably just neutral, absolute zero.

They make their way back to the office and no one so much as blinks at them, even though they are a few minutes late, just like Pat predicted. Pat catches Brian’s eye and winks at him, _I told you so_ , and Brian rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, can’t stop smiling, as he goes back to his desk. Jenna raises her eyebrows, but Brian just shakes his head at her and turns to his computer, to make a dedicated attempt at accomplishing anything at all today.

* * *

Laura is sprawled dramatically on the couch when Brian gets home, but spares the energy to prop her chin up on her hand to look at him.

“Heard from Kevin?” she says.

Brian sighs. “No, I turned my phone off, forgot to turn it back on.” _‘Forgot.’_ “Scoot,” he says, shoving her feet out of the way so he can sit on the couch. She sits up and sidles over to peek over Brian’s shoulder, because she is the worst. He doesn’t care, though, it’s not like he doesn’t tell her all the shit that goes down.

Nothing interesting, is what he has gotten from Kevin: a return to Brian’s good morning text; a text saying he’s headed to work; a text that he’s on his lunch break; a text that he’s headed home. It’s the type of keeping up-to-date that Brian’s always liked, always appreciated, because he does this too, at least usually.

He sends Kevin a brief synopsis of his day — _work was fine, had lunch with Pat so didn’t have time to text, just got home, prob making dinner w/Laura and Jo so might not be around for a while still. Love you._

He drops his phone onto the coffee table and groans, dropping his face into his hands. “Laura, what the fuck am I gonna do?”

She pats him on the shoulder. “I dunno, Bri. I wish I knew, but I can’t take it back for you. Has to be a human, right?”

“Yeah. I don’t — I don’t really know any humans I’m on drive-to-Maryland terms with, though?” He pauses. “I mean.” He sighs. “No, probably not.”

“What?”

“I, uh. Had lunch with Pat today. Sorta dumped my relationship shit on him. Didn’t tell him about the coat, but told him pretty much everything else.”

“Damn, really?”

“Yeah. He was super nice about it, actually? And, uh. He told me that when he first moved here, he was engaged? To a guy? And they broke up? But oh my god?”

“Oh my god,” Laura, fully aware of Brian’s crush on Pat, says in agreement. “I _told_ you there was no way he’s straight.”

“What _ever_ , it’s still not like I can do anything, he’s definitely not gonna be into me after hearing all my bullshit, and he’s my coworker besides.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “Alright, but if he’s certified human, you should get on drive-to-Maryland terms with him, so you can get your fuckin’ coat back and not be tied to this motherfucker,” Laura says, gesturing in the direction of Brian’s phone.

“I think he is? I haven’t picked up on anything from him, at least.”

“You’ve got better magic senses than me, I couldn’t say. Plus, I’ve never met the dude. Oh my god, Bri, you should invite him _over!_ ”

“Stoppit,” Brian whines, as she grins at him.

“I won’t! Look, I haven’t _met_ him, but I’ve seen some of his video shit, he gives me _way_ better vibes than Kevin does. And you get all goofy about him!”

Jonah walks in through the door as Laura is talking, in time to catch the latter half of her statement. “Did something happen with Pat?” he says.

Brian groans in despair. “Nothing happened with Pat!”

“They went to lunch and Brian told Pat about his _relationship issues_ ,” Laura says. “And Pat came out to Brian as gay.”

“That is definitely not nothing,” Jonah points out.

“Okay, whatever, it still doesn’t solve anything with Kevin.”

“It could! Just get him to roadtrip with you!” Laura insists.

“Yeah, alright, sure. I’ll go up to him tomorrow, and I’ll say, ‘hey Pat Gill, sorry for dumping my shit on you yesterday, by the way do you want to come to Baltimore with me and steal my seal coat back from the guy I told you about yesterday, ‘cause I’m physically incapable of doing so on my own, no I dunno how that’ll go down or how you’ll manage it short of breaking into his fuckin’ house or something, but I also am literally physically incapable of dumping him until I get my coat back, so, haha, you’re, like, my best hope right now!’”

“Yeah, exactly like that,” Jonah says, walking over to ruffle Brian’s hair. Brian huffs a frustrated sigh at him. “Or woo him slowly, I don’t care, but the shit with Kevin’s been tearing you apart for the better part of a year now and, frankly, it sucks to watch.”

“Thanks, Jo,” Brian says gruffly.

“Look, I’m just saying, you’re fucking miserable,” he says.

Brian sighs and drops his head back against the couch. Jonah pets his hair.

“I know it’s hard, B. And I’m not trying to pressure you. But there’s gonna be a point where you can’t handle it anymore, and I think you need to get out and get your coat back before you get to that point.”

“You’re right,” Brian says. He gives another deep, deep sigh. “I’ll figure out how to talk to Pat, I guess.”

“I believe in you!” Laura chirps. “Come help with dinner, Bri.” She hops to her feet, and takes Brian by the arm; he goes obligingly.

* * *

Brian has had wicked anxieties about communication for pretty much his entire dating life. Not about telling people things; in fact, it has often been almost the opposite. It’s always, oddly enough, been easier with his completely long-distance partners — he can’t possibly know what they’re doing every second of the day, so why worry?

It had, actually, been Jonah that it was the worst with. They’d gotten together just out of high school, their mutual first year of college, and Brian had recently had a fairly traumatic breakup.

(He has not always been known to have the wisest taste in partners. Jonah is, so far, the best exception to this rule.)

Jonah quickly and easily became a constant in his life. They were roommates, that first year, and were around each other pretty much all of the time. This was super nice, until the school year ended. Jonah, at the time, was living about an hour away from Brian during the summer, and the combination of ‘still recovering’ and ‘thusly becoming massively emotionally dependent on Jonah’ made his anxiety flip absolutely the fuck out.

He’s healed a lot, since then. He’s come a long way. But there was a time, not even all that long ago, when a five minute pause between texts could start to get him freaking out. He’d known it was unhealthy then; he knows it’s unhealthy now. It made sense, in context: he’d been ghosted by a long-term partner with no explanation, and his response was to fucking _cling_ to Jonah, to anyone who slotted themselves into his life as a constant. He hadn’t been able to help it very well, until he got some therapy.

Then he got to have even more fun conversations about _depressive episodes_ and _manic episodes_ and _attachment styles_ and _anxiety attacks_ and the exciting opportunity to tick off a list of symptoms and get little handouts of coping mechanisms and try no less than three different dosages of four different types of medicines, so as to be able to not get twelve kinds of fucked up about things that don’t even _matter_.

All this to say, Brian’s not so susceptible to panic attacks anymore. But he does get them, still; usually he’s able to head them off before they get bad, or rationalize them out of the way. But sometimes they’re still fucking _bad_.

This week, his baseline anxiety level has been so high that it’s not even a little surprising when he finds his old triggers back again.

The worst part though, is — well, it’s not Jonah this time. It’s certainly not Kevin.

But he texts Jonah about it, because Jonah knows how to handle him better than anyone on god’s green earth, and also Brian knows he’s got the day off today.

2:31 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
hello i have a fun and exciting development for you

2:31 PM | Jonah Scott  
??

2:34 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
pat’s working from home today and i texted him like an hour ago w 2 questions (1. i need help w an unraveled script bc i havent played the game and he has 2. if he’s free next weekend but i didnt say what for) and he left me on read and i Should Not Be Freaking Out, it is a work day, he’s got shit to do, but im doing the fucking thing again and had to go hide in the bathroom in case this escalates into actual panic attack territory  
:upside_down: i cant make myself stop checking how long its been since i sent it. i havent done this in literally months and its never someone im not that close to  
i cant latch onto pat like this i just cant thats like the worst thing i could do for myself rn

2:38 PM | Jonah Scott  
Are you in a place where you can turn off your phone or do you need to keep talking to me?

2:38 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
i need to keep talking to you im sorry

2:39 PM | Jonah Scott  
Don’t be sorry, it’s okay to need help through this. Im sorry this is happening right now, I know it’s really stressful and scary  
Try to do your breathing stuff ok?  
Do you want me to call you?

2:40 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
yes please if thats ok i dont want to interrupt you

Incoming Call

**Jonah Scott**

Accept | Decline

“Hey, Jo,” Brian says. His voice cracks a little, from the effort of holding himself together.

“Hey. Talk to me, Bri, what’s going on?” Jonah says. He gets so fucking gentle, when Brian’s upset. Brian never feels safer than when he’s around him. He knows Jonah like the back of his hand. Better than, really; who actually knows what the back of their hand looks like? It doesn’t even scare him anymore, when Jonah doesn’t reply for ages, not really, and when it does he knows how to talk himself out of it.

(No, wait, one caveat: if he’s already panicking and texts Jonah for help, it still sometimes scares him then. But now he’s able to take a deep breath and message Laura instead, or whoever feels manageable to talk to. He’s got a _support system_ that he can lean on. He doesn’t have to depend on just Jonah.)

“Remember what you said about me hitting my breaking point? I think I, uh. I think I might’ve hit it. Truth be told, I probably did on Sunday night, when I found out he has my _fucking coat_. I hate being without it, Jo, it’s so fucking scary, if he finds out what it is he could burn it and then I could _never ever go back_ —”

“Ssh, shh, hey, listen to me. Kevin’s an asshole, but I don’t think he’d do that. He’s treated you badly, yes. He’s generally kind of a dick, yes. But I think he does, at least, love you — obviously he shows that in a real fuckin’ shit way, and no matter how much love there is it super does not in any fucking way excuse the shit he’s done — but I have a hard time believing that he would knowingly, physically hurt you.”

Brian sighs, because Jonah’s right. About all of it. Even with — the situation last summer — Brian knows, if nothing else, they still have love for each other. Which is part of why this is so _fucking_ hard. “I know,” he says softly. “It’s still scary.”

“I know. I’m sorry. If I could, I’d go steal it back for you, right the fuck now.”

“Stupid magic laws!” Brian says, obstinate and angry. “What kind of fucking rape culture bullshit is this, I mean, really? Can’t take my own fucking skin, half my goddamn identity, back from a human who’s stolen it from me? Can’t get it back unless _another fucking human_ takes it, and then I just — what — I just fucking hope they give it back to me? What if I get Pat to steal it from Kevin and then Pat keeps it?”

“It’s bullshit,” Jonah agrees, keeping his voice level, wordlessly reminding Brian to stop his voice from rising in case someone walks past.

“I dunno, Jonah, I’m just so — I’m so fucking worked up that I’m a hair’s breadth from losing my shit at any given moment. So, like, I’m not surprised that I’m freaking out about Pat, because he’s pretty much my first choice for someone to do this for me — I mean, maybe I could get Simone, but I’m not sure she’s human? But she’s the only other person I’m close enough with to ask.”

“She’s the one who came over, like, a few weeks ago, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, she’s definitely not human, she left her magic signature all over the place just by being in our apartment. My guess would be some sort of fae, but I wouldn’t know for sure.”

Brian sighs. “I hate this, Jonah.”

“I do too. I hate seeing you upset like this.”

“I hate _being_ upset like this. I’m so good at handling my triggers, like, all the rest of the time,” he says plaintively.

“You’re doing so well, B. I’m really proud of you. It’s okay that this has come up again. This shit’s hard, and you’re handling it really well. Even over the past couple years, you’ve come so, so far. This doesn’t change that, y’know?”

Brian sighs. “Yeah. Here, lemme get my therapist voice, I’m gonna psychoanalyze myself, you ready? _Well, golly gee, Brian, it seems like you’re sublimating your overwhelming discontent in your relationship and your fear of losing your sealskin forever into a more familiar form of anxiety, wouldja look at that_.’” He clears his throat, changes back out of the goofy voice. “Sound about right?”

“Yeah, I think you know yourself pretty well, Bri,” Jonah says, and Brian can hear the hint of affectionate amusement in his voice. “That’s what I was thinking, too, for the record.”

“Well, at least I’m predictable,” Brian says, with his most dramatic sigh. “See, like, I talk to someone with common sense for a little bit and then I remember, like, oh yeah, it’s not the end of the world if someone ignores my texts. Or forgets to reply. Or is going to reply later. Or whatever the case may be! Like, it’s actually — _surprise!_ — fine! It doesn’t mean they hate me, doesn’t mean they’re ditching me forever. I’m gonna see him tomorrow, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hey, hit the brakes a second, be nicer to yourself about it. You’ve got common sense, Bri, you’re brilliant. Your feelings aren’t innately bad; it’s what you do with them that counts. And you did exactly the right thing here. You took a step back, you talked to me, you worked through it and got some perspective. You know I’m here for you as much as I can be, and you knew that I was gonna be around this afternoon, and I’m really glad you reached out instead of trying to fight yourself through this alone.”

“Yeah. I think I would’ve made it worse, this time.”

“I think you needed to talk through it a little bit, that’s all. It can be hard to be rational when you’re that in your head about it.”

“You’re the best, Jonah, you know that?”

Jonah laughs. “I do my best. You gonna be okay?”

“I will be. I’ll make it through the day, at least. Might turn off my phone ‘till the end of the day so I don’t keep checking it.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

“I try. I love you, Jo, I’ll see you later.”

“Love you too, Brian. Good luck with the rest of your day.”

Brian laughs. “Thanks. I’ll need it.”

“Go do your work, B.”

“Oka- _aay_ ,” Brian whines. “Bye, Jonah.”

“Bye, Brian.”

He can’t resist checking his notifications one more time, before he turns his phone off, and then almost has a fucking heart attack when his phone dings very loudly because he had the sound all the way up and forgot to turn it back to vibrate.

3:00 PM | Patrick Gill  
Yea! I’ll totally help. Might not b able to until tomorrow, got a lot of shit to get thru today and anyway it’ll be easier to do in person. But if u have specific questions feel free to send them. Also I might be, what’s next weekend?

Brian slumps against the wall and groans in complete and utter exasperation.

Every fucking time he’s ever had a panic attack about this type of thing, this is how the timing plays out. It’s like the universe has a real sense of irony, likes to watch him get worked up and freaked out and then make everything _perfectly fucking normal_ so he feels even worse about it.

3:01 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
sounds good! honestly i mostly need someone whos actually played the games to look it over and make sure im not completely talking out of my ass  
& i was just wondering if you wanted to hang lol that was a purely social question

3:02 PM | Patrick Gill  
Oh fuck yeah then

3:02 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
what, if i’d suggested something u didnt want to do youd have invented a dr appointment or something? :p  
yknow what thats valid i do the same thing

3:03 PM | Patrick Gill  
Lmao yeah  
Damn you know my secrets now tho

3:03 PM | Brian David Gilbert  
its ok ur secret is safe with me. i wont call you on it if you dont call me on it either

3:04 PM | Patrick Gill  
Fair enough haha

It… is sometimes a self-preservation tactic, for Brian to not reply.

(Although what are you supposed to say back to ‘Fair enough haha,’ Patrick, really?)

He turns his phone off and goes back to work.

* * *

Brian is drained, by the time he gets home. Jonah is sitting on the couch, and Brian hardly has his shoes off before he goes to him, like they’re magnets to each other, and slides under Jonah’s arm.

“Hey, B,” Jonah says, squeezing Brian’s shoulders, keeping him close. “You doing alright?”

“I feel like shit, a little bit,” Brian mumbles, curling against him, pulling his legs up onto the couch and draping them over Jonah’s lap.

“I hear ya. Wanna watch a movie or something? I think Laura’s gonna be back late tonight but we might be able to convince her to bring us pizza if we’re really nice to her.”

“Ooh, yes, please,” Brian says, tucking his face against the side of Jonah’s neck.

* * *

Things are normal with Pat; of course they are.

Brian ends up at Pat’s apartment, on Friday after work, ostensibly to work on Unraveled, but more likely to not do that. This is evidenced by the fact that they both collapse onto the couch and Pat says _ugh this week, I swear_ , and Brian’s like, _yeah for fuckin’ real_ , and there is no move made to do anything that involves work whatsoever.

Two hours later, Pat has thoroughly kicked Brian’s ass at _Smash_ and they’re both a good deal less sober than before and much more giggly. At some point, Brian sprawled over sideways, his feet hanging off the armrest at the end of the couch, only half the length of a cushion between Brian’s head and Pat’s leg.

Brian sighs dramatically in defeat, and drops the Switch controller on the floor. “Stop being good at games, I think it’s very rude.” He folds his arms under his head and rests his cheek on them, finds this an unacceptable position for the fact that he can’t look at Pat, and gracelessly rolls over onto his back to look upside-down at Pat instead.

“Sorry, I’ll let you win next time,” Pat says. Brian scoffs at him. “Also, you’re drunk,” he points out.

“Am not,” Brian huffs.

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Pat says, and boops Brian’s nose. Brian sticks his tongue out at him.

“What-e- _ver_.” He can’t keep a smile off his face, though, because Pat is looking at him like he’s happy, like he’s enjoying himself, like he might actually be having a nice time goofing off with Brian.

“Oh my god, okay, so can I tell you this weird thing that happened this morning?” Pat says.

“Yes, always, I want to know all the weird things,” Brian says. It’s not fun to keep looking at Pat upside-down, either, so he pushes himself back up and folds himself into sitting cross-legged, facing him.

Pat laughs. “So I was, like, running late this morning —”

“That’s not weird, you’re always running late —”

“Shut up, oh my god. But I didn’t have time to get coffee or anything, so I was complaining to Simone, ‘cause she sits next to me and has to deal with it, and then I looked away for _literally two seconds_ to write something down and then there was a mug of coffee on my desk and Simone was _pretending_ like she didn’t know who did it but no one else was within, like, anywhere near, but she didn’t even have coffee today, she’s into that whole broth thing right now which is _just soup anyway_ , and anyway it was a regular mug like the ones she usually has, and I’m like, what kind of weird magic trick was that?”

“Not a very sneaky one,” Brian says.

“It really wasn’t! Like, jeez, Simone, if you’re gonna do nice magic for someone and pretend you didn’t, at least give it some plausible deniability.”

“Can you do magic?” Brian says, as a — he thinks — acceptably subtle segue.

“Nah. Didn’t know Simone could, though, that’s fun. My best friend as a kid was a werewolf, we had so much goddamn fun every full moon we could convince our parents to let us have a sleepover. Like, your best friend can also be a dog? Hell yeah! Y’know?”

Brian laughs. “That’s awesome. I’m, uh. I’m a selkie.”

“Dude, no shit?”

“Yeah! Except, uh. Well. My dumb ass went and got my coat stolen.”

“Oh no,” Pat says, looking at Brian with those lovely intense dark eyes. “What happens with that?”

“Bunch of bullshit, really. Can’t take my seal form at _all_ , which is super fucked because, like, hello? That’s part of me? And I can’t take it back unless it’s freely given. And it was a human who took it, so only another human can steal it away. But then they’d need to give it back to me of their own accord. And I can’t even ask him for it, like I physically can’t. And — and if he burns it, it’s gone, I lose all my magic, I stop being a selkie altogether, and I don’t — I don’t think he’d do that, I don’t even know if he knows it’s my sealskin, but — shit, I’m — I’m real freaked out about it, Pat.”

“Shit,” says Pat. “Not to, uh, assume anything, but — is it your boyfriend?”

Brian nods miserably.

“Do you need help?”

He nods again, a faint flicker of hope starting to light up inside him.

“Tell me what I can do,” Pat says.

Brian is so fucking grateful, he could kiss him.

(He doesn’t, though.)

* * *

Their plans are set for the following weekend.

Brian picks Pat up from his apartment on Saturday morning. It’s the first time since he moved here that he’s going home without Laura or Jonah, and it’s weird enough already even before Pat Gill slides into the passenger seat with a swish of dark hair and hits his knee on the glove compartment.

“Handle’s on the right, to move the seat back,” Brian says as a greeting, as Pat scrunches his long legs into the spot where Laura usually sits. Pat fumbles around, and with a scrape and a thunk it moves back.

“Cool, thanks. Hey,” he adds, grinning at Brian, and Brian smiles back.

“Hey. Ready for this nonsense?”

“Hope so,” Pat says.

A three-hour drive is not long enough for anyone to get silly, or take naps, or even really stop more than once, but it is absolutely exactly long enough to get frazzled about being in a small space and to have to keep changing playlists and hope your companion doesn’t judge your music tastes and to not have enough things to say to fill the space.

With Laura or Jonah, it’s easy. Practiced. Jonah sleeps the whole way; Laura ignores him for at least a solid two-thirds of the drive. This suits Brian just fine. But — he likes Pat. Wants to impress him, wants to make sure he doesn’t regret agreeing to this crazy thing Brian has roped him into.

Pat is the one to take initiative to veer away from small talk. “So, okay. Can you just sort of, run me through the whole thing again? How we’re gonna pull this off?”

“Yeah. So, like, first of all, I can’t personally ask for it back, and nor can any other selkie. I can’t outright ask anyone for help. If help is offered, I can say yes or no, and that’s it. The words just won’t come out otherwise. So what I think we’re going to do is try and — ugh, I dunno, he would have to bring it with him, if we met up for lunch, and then he’d probably be wearing it, but that’d probably be better than bringing you into his apartment? I can’t imagine that’d go over well. But, still, I can’t ask him to bring it with him, either.”

Pat considers this for a long moment, then brightens. “Nothing says I can’t text him with your phone, right?”

“What?”

“Like, if I type and send a message that’s like, ‘hey let’s meet up for lunch, can you bring my hoodie,’ would that work?”

“Huh. Sneaky workaround. I’m into it. Go for it, if you want; if it doesn’t work I guess maybe it just won’t send? It’s in the cupholder — yeah. 7325. Uh, sorry if there’s weird shit in the chat history, I legitimately do not remember anything I’ve said to him in the last twenty-four hours.”

“I won’t read it. What’s the style guide?”

Brian snorts. “Lowercase, apostrophes only if it bothers to correct it, question marks if necessary. Don’t need to, like, call him babe or whatever. I told him I’m gonna be here today, and that I’d let him know when I’d be able to see him.”

Pat types for a minute, then reads it back: “‘Hey, I’m on my way. Pat and I can meet up with you for lunch at around 12:30. Can you bring my hoodie with you?’ Question mark. That sound okay?”

“You can take out the hey, probably, but that sounds fine. Tell me if it actually goes through.”

Pat nods, and they sit in silence for a moment. “Says delivered — whoop, now it’s read. Now he’s typing. Damn, that was fast.”

“We’re a little neurotic about communication in this house,” Brian says lightly, half-joking, not really.

“Fair enough. Ah. He says: ‘sure xoxo see you then!’ Exclamation point.”

Brian gives an awkward sort of chuckle, because he’s not — super sure how else to respond to that.

“Oh, also, he wants to know where we’re having lunch.”

“Shit, yeah —”

“Just kidding, he suggested ‘the sushi place down the street,’ I assume you know the one?”

“I do. Tell him that sounds good, please. Exclamation point.”

Pat laughs, and puts Brian’s phone back in the cupholder. “So how’s that gonna go, do you think?”

“Not super sure. He’s probably gonna wonder why you decided to come with me. He’s nice, though, really friendly. Easy to get along with. Pat, c’mon, if you make that skeptical face every time I say something nice about him you’re gonna look like you’re eating lemons all through lunch, it’s gonna be so uncomfortable.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s fair, you’ve got reason to. I think if you see, like, a natural opening to t — fuck. Okay. Can’t say that.”

“If I see a natural opening to take it?”

“Yes. Thank you. I trust you to be subtle. And this is all assuming he doesn’t just hand it back to me on sight. But, uh, I’ve heard that it has some sort of magic that makes whoever holds it want to keep it. So it might not be so easy. For you, either.”

Pat waves that last off. “Please. It’s yours, it belongs to you. I won’t keep it, and that’s a promise.” His tone is vehement, like he’s trying to convince Brian.

“Thank you,” is all Brian can manage to say to that. He — he hopes the best, of Pat, he really does, but that’s failed him before.

“Is there anything you can do to, like, make sure no one takes it again? I mean. Shit. I’m not saying — I’m not blaming you — it’s not your _fault_ , you shouldn’t have to protect it, they shouldn’t fuckin’ _take_ shit that’s not theirs in the first place —”

“I get it, I got you, don’t worry. If I’m wearing it, it can’t be taken off me. Even as a human. I wear it pretty much all the time. I can change what it looks like; it can be pretty much whatever I want. It’s always way warmer wearing it, though, even if I do make something like a t-shirt, so it’s kind of annoying in the summer. But soon as I take it off, it’s fair game. I was in a rush, leaving, last time, ‘cause I was running late and Laura wanted to get home so I got dressed really fast and must’ve just left it lying on the floor.” He realizes, belatedly, what he’s implied, and feels his ears go hot, and fervently hopes Pat doesn’t feel like reading into it.

( _Stupid. ‘Course he knows you’re fucking your goddamn long-term boyfriend, come on_.)

“Mom always says that’s the occupational hazard of dating humans.” Brian sighs, shrugs. “I’ve never had a problem, before now. I haven’t — I haven’t told him I’m a selkie? But it would be a reasonable guess to make. I’m sure he’s got plenty of evidence.”

“Wait, hang on, you haven’t told your partner of two years that you’re a selkie, and you told me? I can’t tell which one of those things is the weird one?”

“Probably the former, if I’m being honest. Most people with magic disclose it, just for practical reasons, but I’ve had the fear of god instilled in me a little bit, about coat-thievery, and so I’m not as personally liable to tell human partners that I’m a selkie. Though I have done it before. I dunno. I guess maybe my subconscious picked up on some untrustworthiness or something. Or. I dunno. Who knows, really. On the other hand, I told you for a very practical reason, if still potentially equally risky. Not that I don’t trust you! You know I think you’re great. It’s just an occupational hazard of the shit magic I’m subjected to.”

“Of course,” Pat says.

It’s not long, from then, that they arrive. Kevin lives just outside of Baltimore, though a different direction from Brian; it’s a ten-minute drive and annoying as hell through any other mode of transport.

Kevin is sitting on a bench by the sushi place in question, but is not paying attention when Brian pulls into the parking lot.

“Be nice, please,” Brian says quietly, before they get out of the car. “And if things, uh, work out, if I need to take a minute alone with him —”

“You got it. I will be the model of discretion, don’t you worry.” Pat gives him a reassuring smile.

“Hah. Alright, Pat Gill, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

They get out of the car and approach Kevin; from the angle they’re at, they see him before he sees them. Brian sees Pat blink as he takes him in, and he’s a little amused by it.

It’s not hard, when someone describes a person who’s done unkindnesses, to imagine them as looking as cruel as the worst things they’ve done. But the thing is: Kevin’s, well. Kevin’s hot, what can he say, it is an objective fact. He’s shorter than Brian, solidly built, with a wavy undercut that’s at present dyed a warm red, a little bit of a beard, freckles splashed across his face and neck. When he looks up, he breaks into a bright and genuine smile and rushes over to hug Brian.

Brian hugs him back; his chin rests on Kevin’s shoulder — upon which is his very own sealskin.

Kevin kisses him quickly, whispers _hello_ and pulls back, hands still on Brian’s waist. Even despite everything Brian can’t help but smile back. It’s infectious, when Kevin smiles; he has the type of kind face that makes it easy to mirror him. Kevin’s eyes slide past Brian, then. “Oh, hey, I thought when you said Pat you meant your brother,” he says. “Is this coworker Pat?”

“Yep. Come say hi, coworker Pat,” Brian says, with a teasing little smile. “Kevin, Pat Gill. Pat Gill, Kevin Punt. Can we get food now? I am starving and also I have to pee very badly.”

Brian has, as it turns out, absolutely no magic without possession of his coat. He’d had half a mind to make the temperature of the room rise a little, just enough for Kevin to take the hoodie off, but he can’t even do that. And he does that all the _time_ , hardly even thinks about it, ugh, no wonder he’s been too hot to sleep at night.

It is… a little awkward. Not as bad as it could be; Pat is quite friendly, and shows no animosity, but it’s a bit of a stilted third-wheel situation where everyone is, kind of, the third wheel. Brian’s fidgety-anxious, because the entire rest of his day depends on what happens here.

Pat is absolutely, unquestionably, a genius and a gentleman and a true goddamn friend; he’s sitting next to Kevin, diagonal from Brian, who had lost the scramble to sit on the booth side of the table. He catches Brian’s eye for the briefest of moments, gives him the fastest and most subtle wink in the entire world, and then a series of events happens very quickly. Pat fumbles his chopsticks; the sushi he was carrying falls out of them into his lap; he startles, so convincingly that Brian’s ready to nominate him for a Tony award on the spot; and in that motion, he knocks over his cup of water, which tips towards Kevin and splashes like half his torso.

Bingo.

“Fuck! Shit, I’m so sorry, dude, oh my god,” Pat says, already grabbing napkins and passing them to Kevin, who shakes off his surprise.

“It’s okay! It’s okay, don’t worry, it happens,” Kevin says, amicably enough for someone who’s just been doused in ice water. He accepts the napkins and dabs at his shirt and Brian’s coat, with a little bit of a frown. He glances around for more napkins, but that seems to be all of the ones that were available. He takes the hoodie off — !! — and shakes it out; some ice cubes clatter onto the floor. “Uh, I’m gonna go track down some paper towels? Be right back,” Kevin says.

He leaves the hoodie on the seat, when he goes.

Brian stares, wide-eyed, at Pat. Pat watches Kevin walk away; as soon as the door has closed behind him, he takes the hoodie. Pat’s eyes go wide, for a second, with a sharp inhale. Brian’s blood turns to ice, not knowing — could the magic affect Pat — what would happen then — what would Brian even _do_ —

But Pat recovers in just another moment, before Brian can even get past thinking in anxious sentence fragments, and hands over the hoodie as easy as anything. Like it’s absolutely nothing. Like it wasn’t even a question.

Brian takes it and hugs it to his chest. He could fucking cry, of relief; he puts it on quickly, pulls it tight around himself.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Of course,” says Pat, with that little smile Brian knows so well. “If you need me to duck out for a bit — I’ll pay attention, I can take a hint.”

“Thank you. Really. Thank you so much.”

Kevin returns, shortly thereafter; he looks surprised to see Brian wearing the hoodie that just got water spilled all over it, and also possibly equivalently surprised to see that it’s already dry, but he doesn’t say anything.

It is, after all, Brian’s.

When they leave, Pat and Brian exchange a quick look; Pat mumbles something about having forgotten something in the car. Brian passes Pat his keys, turns to Kevin, and says, “Let’s take a walk.” There’s a park across the street. It’ll suit their needs.

“What about Pat?”

“He’s leggy, he’ll catch up.”

Kevin laughs. “True.” He flicks a glance in Pat’s direction as they cross the street. “He’s handsome, damn. You gonna go for it?”

“Maybe,” Brian says. “Dunno if he’s interested.”

“Oh, come on, he was staring at you the whole time we were at lunch. He totally is.”

Brian gives a light laugh. Shrugs. “Could be. We’ll see how it plays out.” He pauses for a moment, pushes his hands into his pockets. Kevin looks at him, tilts his head questioningly.

“What’s up?”

“I, uh.” _Shit_. His heart is racing; he can hear his pulse roaring in his ears. His chest is already going tight in anxiety. Oh, this is going to be rough, and he really hopes he can keep it together.

Kevin must be able to tell that something’s going down from just those two syllables, though. He stops and turns to face Brian, looking at him with big worried eyes.

He’s pictured what he’s going to say so many times, but, fuck, he doesn’t know how to start it, doesn’t want to go _we need to talk_ or _listen, hey, so_ or —

“Kevin, I’m really sorry,” he says, and forces the rest of the sentence out before he chokes on it, “but I think we need to break up.”

Kevin reels like he’s been slapped. He looks between Brian and the parking lot, back to Brian. “Is it because of Pat? If — if something’s happened there, you — you know I don’t mind if you see someone else too —”

“No, it’s not. We’re not together. It doesn’t have anything to do with him. It’s.” Brian takes a deep breath; it comes shakily. “Last summer — the way you treated me — that wasn’t okay. Ever since that happened, I’ve been too scared to voice my opinions or disagreement with you. I haven’t been able to speak up about any problems, because I am constantly afraid of that happening again. There — there was a time, when I would’ve done anything to make things work, but — I think it’s pretty clear our priorities are different here.”

“What do you mean?” Kevin says. Brian can’t read his expression.

“I mean that when I was essentially not allowed to give no for an answer, that when I wasn’t even allowed to give a maybe and hold off on a decision for a few days, there was a complete disregard for me and my feelings. I haven’t felt safe standing up for myself in any aspect since then.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, Kevin. I care about you as a person, and I want you to be happy and okay, but I also need to be happy and okay. I — I can’t see a future with us. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay. I —”

 _God, god, god, Brian, keep it together, you can do this, c’mon, you got this, you’re so close_ —

“I hate seeing you hurt, but I also have to be realistic. So. Yeah. That’s — that’s the situation, here.”

Brian’s on the verge of tears; Kevin has started to, very quietly, cry. “I’m so sorry,” Kevin says. “I didn’t know. I had no idea you were feeling this way for so long. Is there anything I can — anything I can do to fix it?”

“I don’t think so. I’m sorry.”

Kevin hitches out a sob and, god, it claws into Brian’s chest. Kevin has an arm crossed over his chest, a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to hold it together as much as he can. And it’s fair, that he’s crying; it had to have been at least relatively unexpected on his end. “D’you think we can still be friends?”

Brian looks at the ground. Looks back at Kevin. Sighs. “I — I don’t know. I don’t want to give you false hopes. I think at the very least, we need to take some time apart, not talk to each other for a while, get some space. Okay?”

“Okay. I — I’m sorry, Brian, I really am.”

Brian nods. “Me too. I — I’ll see you around, Kevin,” Brian says. He gives Kevin a shaky, watery smile, and doesn’t wait for a response before he turns and walks away.

He’s barely across the street before he’s full-out crying. Pat’s in the car, in the driver’s seat, fiddling with his phone; he looks up when Brian opens the passenger side door and slides into the seat. He shuts the door behind himself and covers his face with his hands, because as soon as he’s still, his quiet anxious tears break into horrible, awful, loud sobs.

“Shit,” he hears Pat say softly. “Brian, are you — what happened?”

It takes effort, and a lot of gasping stuttering, to get the words out, but he eventually cobbles together something resembling coherent: “Broke up with him. Nothing awful happened. It’s just an awful thing to do.”

“Here, let’s get out of this parking lot and get you somewhere better, okay?” Pat says gently. Brian just nods.

He takes one hand off his face and opens the glove compartment, rummages around for the GPS he never uses, because he has a phone. But it has a button on it that he can press that says _Home_ that leads to his mom’s house, and it’s a suburb so there’s a park down the street from there so he doesn’t have to go face his mother while he is, like, sobbing his brains out. He fiddles with the screen to get it to lead Pat there, and brandishes it at Pat. 

“Gotcha. You need anything?”

Brian shrugs.

“Do you want me to talk? Or would it help if I just shut up for a minute?”

“Talk, please,” Brian says into his hands.

“Okay. I’m here. Uh, shit. It’s fuckin’ pretty as hell here, dude, if we had more time I’d make you take me to the beach or something. Love a good ocean. Fuck, that’s a dumb thing to say,” Pat says, and Brian giggles a little.

"There's no beach in Baltimore, Pat."

“Shit. Well, at least the dumb shit I say makes one person laugh. Uh. God, I feel like I never shut up the rest of the time, why do I never have anything good to say when I actually need to talk?”

“Homophobia in action,” Brian mumbles.

“Yeah, basically. That’s definitely it. Hey, don’t you have a dog?”

Brian nods. “He’s named Moose.”

“Do I get to meet him?”

“If you’re nice to me,” Brian jokes. He peeks at Pat from behind his hands; Pat notices the movement and smiles quickly at him before looking back at the road.

Pat grouses about the concept of parallel parking, even though it’s a quiet residential street and he doesn’t even have to really go through all the motions of it, just pull up to the curb, since there’s no other cars anywhere near him. If he thinks affecting a grouch will make Brian smile, though, he’s not wrong.

Brian digs a box of tissues out of the backseat — and some hand sanitizer out of his backpack for good measure, ‘cause ew — and once he’s, like, not totally gross, they find somewhere outside to sit. Brian’s not, like, _not_ crying, but also he’s not crying so hard he can hardly breathe anymore, so that’s progress.

There’s a bench in the shade, far enough from the baseball field and the playground that they won’t be bothered or in the way if any families show up, and so they claim it as theirs. Brian sits, maybe, possibly, a little closer to Pat than he strictly needs to, and then looks at Pat, and there must be something real plaintive in his face, because Pat’s full attention locks onto him, even despite the natural desire to take in the new surroundings.

“Do — uh. Can I hug you? Would — I mean, would that help? Or —”

Brian wraps his arms around Pat so that he stops stuttering. There is no hesitation before Pat puts his arms around Brian in return, one hand light on the back of Brian’s head, thumb stroking his hair, his other hand on Brian’s back.

Pat is fucking _skinny_ , just really goddamn narrow; it’s even clearer, with Brian’s arms tight around his waist. How does he have room for his, like, guts in there? Fuckin’ ridiculous. But he’s warm, and doesn’t flinch at the fact that Brian is still sort of crying on his shoulder, and he’s playing with Brian’s hair, which is a thing that makes Brian go all boneless-pliant and so he’s kinda just slumped against Pat, and it seems to be completely fucking fine with him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Pat murmurs.

“Just — sucks,” Brian mumbles against his shirt.

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“‘Course.”

“What happened when you picked up the coat? You — uh. You made a face.”

“Oh. Jeez. I didn’t mean to. You were definitely right, about the magic — I’ve never been on the receiving end of much magic before, and, wow. It felt… Important. Like. Like I was holding the most valuable thing in the world, and I needed to protect it. So it stunned me for a second, ‘cause it sort of hit me over the head. But it wasn’t — the way it hit me wasn’t, like, ‘I gotta keep it,’ it was like… well, I have to do the right thing with this. Because, obviously, it’s not mine to keep. So.” Brian feels him give an awkward sort of shrug.

“You’re a good one, Pat Gill,” Brian murmurs.

“On the contrary, I think that’s basic fucking decency.”

“You’d think. You haven’t heard the shit I’ve heard, though. It’s fucked up.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah,” Brian says. He sighs; he manages it without his breath hitching on a sob, which is nice. Means he’s finally starting to chill out. It’s nice, to have Pat’s arms around him, and to be wrapped in his own coat. His coat smells kind of like Kevin, which sort of hurts, but maybe if he changes its form it’ll go back to normal. He can figure that out later. When Pat’s not hugging him. He doesn’t want to stop being held by him.

They stay like that for a long time.

* * *

“Mom, I’m home! Pat Gill’s here, too, I know you know that but I’m just reminding you,” Brian calls out, as they walk in the front door.

His mom is, as always, happy to see him, and Pat is charmingly shy as they chat. He wanders off to go find the restroom, giving Brian and his mom a moment alone.

“I broke up with Kevin,” Brian says, with a sad shaky smile.

“Oh, honey,” she says, and pulls him into a tight hug. “Are you okay?”

“I will be. Just need time, I think.”

“I was going to run some errands, but if you need me to stick around or anything, I can.”

“No, that’s alright, I can chill with Pat. Thank you, though.”

She kisses his hair. “I’ll get some ice cream while I’m out.”

Brian laughs. “That would be ideal.”

She leaves and Brian tracks down Pat, who is — as Brian suspected — loitering out of sight, so that Brian and his mom could have a conversation.

“You sneaky fucker,” Brian says, tapping Pat’s arm with a closed fist. Pat pretends to reel back from the fake punch.

“Don’t take me out, I’m just trying to give you space when it seems like you need it.”

“That’s fair,” Brian says. “I appreciate it. Are we gonna stay the night? I think my mom thinks we are, but I don’t know if that’s what you planned — _jesus christ, Moose!”_ Brian shouts, as he is suddenly nearly bowled over by his very own dog. But he laughs and drops to his knees to pet him; Pat follows suit, holding out a hand for Moose to sniff.

“We can stay, if you want. I was sort of figuring we would? I didn’t expect that you’d want to spend six hours in a car in a day. I brought a change of clothes and stuff, so,” Pat says with a shrug, as Moose licks his hand.

“Okay, that works. Let’s see if she hasn’t turned my bedroom into an office yet. C’mon, Moose,” Brian says, and the three of them go upstairs.

Brian’s bedroom has not, in fact, been turned into an office, because that was a joke. Brian drops his backpack on his desk chair and narrows his eyes at the furniture. His bed is big enough for two people if they’re cuddling, but — well.

Pat is completely distracted by Moose, who has immediately fallen in love with Pat, and the feeling seems to be reciprocal.

“Okay, so, sleeping situation,” Brian says, and Pat glances up at him. Brian ticks the options off on his fingers: “One, we used to have a pull-out couch but I don’t know if it exists anymore, I think my brother assumed custody of it. Two, you could probably sleep in one of my siblings’ rooms but we’d have to ask. Three, we can share my bed, but it’s a little small. Uh, four, I dunno, regular couch, I guess? Sorry, I guess I didn’t think about this very well, beforehand.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m alright sharing if you are,” Pat says, with a mild shrug. Well. That’s less dramatic than Brian thought it would be.

“Cool. Okay. That works,” Brian says, and Pat smiles quickly at him before turning his full attention to Moose, who is now in full playtime mode. “Oh my god, Pat, if you rile him up any more he’s going to knock you over, or knock everything in my room over, or knock _me_ over. Let’s just take him outside, then you can get your playing with a dog time in, I know that was half your reason for coming anyway.”

“Aw, damn, I’ve been found out,” Pat teases, and lets Brian lead the way.

* * *

Brian’s mom calls while they’re outside; Brian wanders over to the back porch in case she asks anything he doesn’t want Pat to overhear the answer to. But she doesn’t pry — thank god — and just asks him what kind of ice cream she should get and what he and Pat might like for dinner and also are you okay, honey, you need anything else?

He says as chocolatey as possible, and probably pizza statistically speaking, and he’s alright or well he will be anyway.

Dinner is about as awkward as could be expected, under the circumstances, with everyone carefully avoiding the plethora of elephants in the room. Pat very graciously fields a litany of polite questions about his work and where he’s from and whatever the fuck else makes decent small talk.

Eventually, though, Pat and Brian go back upstairs. Brian has the sneaking suspicion that his mom might have jumped to a conclusion or two about him and Pat, and is staying out of their hair — and while that’s, like, not accurate, he definitely doesn’t mind the alone time.

The room that houses the TV and various gaming equipment is the one that served as the playroom when they were kids, and Brian always has to forcibly autocorrect himself to, like, ‘TV room’ or ‘family room’ or whatever so he doesn’t sound like he’s five goddamn years old, and almost misses the jump on that and thus mainly just kinda stutters at Pat for a second as he suggests they go upstairs which probably definitely, uh, makes him sound more suggestive than he actually means to be.

It becomes apparent that neither of them are paying any attention whatsoever to the movie they pick out not fifteen minutes into it. Brian has already stopped even looking at the screen; he is lying on his back staring at the ceiling, with his legs dangling off the armrest.

Pat turns the volume way down and says, “You okay?”

“Just thinking,” Brian says.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Brian shrugs. Sighs. The last time he was on a couch talking to Pat about his personal awful shit, he was drunk, and he won’t lie and say he wouldn’t kind of rather be drunk now, too. But that’s not, like, a healthy approach, and he will abstain, but it’s hard to think about. Harder to talk about.

But he tells Pat anyway.

It makes his chest ache with a particular sort of twist when he thinks about how he’s never gonna wander around Baltimore hand-in-hand with Kevin again. How he’ll never lean down and push his hair out of his face and kiss his forehead, and get that big genuine smile back in reply. How he’ll never be wrapped in one of Kevin’s perfect soft warm bear hugs again. How he’ll never get unprompted sweet little messages every once in a while, just ‘cause he wanted to remind Brian he loves him. There’s a thousand other things that are gone from him, now, that he doesn’t get to have back — things that meant the world to him, once; things that he’ll miss desperately; and yet they are all things that aren’t worth sacrificing his happiness for.

He’s crying again, not hard, he just can’t really help it, and Pat’s sitting there with his legs crossed as he tells him all this, turned to face Brian, carefully stroking Brian’s hair, looking at him like he’s some precious thing.

“That’s the hardest part,” Pat murmurs. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

“It sucks,” Brian says miserably, leaning into Pat’s touch. Pat thumbs at Brian’s cheek, to wipe away a tear, and it’s such a tender gesture it makes Brian’s chest ache in an entirely different way. “Sorry for crying all over you,” he says, instead of anything he’d actually like to say. 

“Hah, no, you’re fine. You should’ve seen me after my last breakup. Well. No. No one should’ve seen me after that, I was an outright disaster. I totally get it, is what I’m trying to say.”

“How long’d it take for you to feel better?” Brian should know better than to ask this. Brian, in fact, knows his own answer to this and it’s: it takes ages, but you get there, mostly. Even if a part of your heart stays sore.

Pat answers, even though both of them know it’s not a real question. “A really long time,” he admits, running his fingers through Brian’s hair. “If I’m being honest, I still miss him sometimes.”

Brian has no idea what to say to this. Pat keeps petting his hair.

Pat must take the pause as a signal to continue talking, because he does. “It doesn’t, like, consume me anymore, though. And we ended on really good terms, all things considered. In the end, it was really just the distance. I, uh. Man, I was crazy about him. Couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.” He’s not looking at Brian, now; he’s staring into the middle distance. “But now it’s like… I can think about the good things without feeling that awful regret, and I might miss him when I’m feeling real melancholy but it’s — it’s okay. I dunno. I don’t know if that even helps at all. But. Basically what I’m trying to say is, I’m here for you.”

“Thank you, Pat,” Brian says, barely above a whisper. He looks up at him. Pat’s looking at him again, with that characteristic intensity. It sets Brian’s pulse racing. He’d sit up, see if Pat’s eyes track him, but he doesn’t want to move away because then Pat wouldn’t be touching him and he thinks he might actually perish if Pat stops touching him.

He wants to kiss him so _badly_. He’s wanted to kiss him so badly for months and _months_ , basically since he started working with him. Jonah’s encouraged him; he’s had two exes now that encouraged him; Laura’s encouraged him; fuck, it even seems like his very own mother is encouraging him, under the circumstances.

But he doesn’t want — he doesn’t want Pat to think that — that, like, he’s rebounding from Kevin. He doesn’t want to make Pat help him pick up the pieces, if he doesn’t want to. And he also knows that even if Pat is interested in him, he’s never _ever_ going to say it first in a situation like this. Because he knows Pat, and he knows Pat wouldn’t want to add _more_ to what Brian’s feeling. And as much as he knows he genuinely likes Pat, he also doesn’t want to do something in the heat of the moment in the height of these emotions that they’d both regret, either. 

So Brian talks around it, instead. “I had a partner that I started dating long before Kevin and I got together. We, uh. We broke up not long after I started dating Kevin — not because of him, it was for other reasons — but, like, I feel that. We were together a long time. I miss them, even though, like, it was a long-distance relationship. We didn’t see each other in person very often, but we’d talk all the time, y’know? It was something I could count on, waking up to a text from them. They were such a constant in my life that I felt so sideways, off-kilter, when they weren’t there anymore. It took me so long to stop reflexively going to text them about things. It was — it was the distance for us too,” Brian admits with a sigh.

“Neither of us were willing nor able to give up our homes for each other. It sucked. A lot. And I do still miss them. I think I miss them more than I’ll miss Kevin in a week, which, wow, sounds really mean, but I really have been so _unhappy_. Half this—“ Brian waves a hand vaguely. “—crying bullshit is just having too many goddamn emotions for my body to handle without it, it’s just how I process shit. I cry at everything, when I’m anxious or happy or angry or sad or whatever. And. Like. I’m sad. Of course I’m sad. Two years is a long time to be with someone. But I think I’m gonna be fine, once I feel more stable.”

“I hope — god I hope this doesn’t sound judgy because I super don’t mean it like that — but — I can't imagine trying to juggle all of those emotions at once, especially, like, you said you’d just gotten with Kevin, which is like the polar opposite emotion of a breakup. How do you handle it?” Pat says.

“It’s hard to explain,” Brian says. “It’s, like, all of it is separate? I mean, of course it’s all in one me, and of course it can all get really tangled anyway, but the feelings I had for them were entirely disparate from the ones for Kevin. And I did lean on Kevin for support, but it didn’t change anything about my relationship with him, except that maybe now I had more time and mental space to spend on him. I’m not sure that I could handle more than, like, my QPR with Jonah and, like, probably exactly one romantic partner, at this point in my life. I just don’t have the time or the energy or, like, the space in my brain to be a supportive partner to more than that, between work and my mental health and every fucking other thing.”

“That does sound like a lot to balance,” Pat says.

“It is. But I thrive on it, generally speaking. I love to love. I’m at my best when I have people I can just totally dote on, it makes me happy. It gives me an outlet for all that energy. I — this is so fuckin’ cheesy but I just feel like, really full of love and affection about things, my partners and my work and my family and my friends and Moose and Zuko and just _everything_ , and being able to direct that attention to the people that are most important to me is — is my very favorite thing.”

There’s more he wants to say. Wishes he could say. Keeps himself from saying, for fear of an untimely confession ruining everything. 

“Like, I mean. The way things have been with Jonah and me has been exactly the same for years now, even though we’ve both changed a lot. Just like when I’m dating someone new and that doesn’t change my feelings for my current partners, a breakup doesn’t change that either. It changes, y’know, my emotional state, certainly. But in a healthy relationship, that’s not gonna cause a domino effect. If anything, it’ll solidify your other relationships,” Brian says. He shrugs a little. “I dunno. It’s hard to explain.”

“No, no, that makes sense,” Pat says. “I’m not sure how well I’d do dating more than one person at a time, but the way you explain it, I feel like at the very least I’d be cool with having a partner who did.” He looks a little startled at himself, clears his throat and quickly adds, “Y’know. In the, uh. In the event that I ever got myself into that situation.”

Brian looks at him for a long moment; he squirms a little under Brian’s gaze. Interesting. But he lets the moment pass and goes _mmhm_ and pushes his head against Pat’s hand again, because he’s stopped petting his hair and that is unacceptable.

They are quiet, for a while, after that. The only sounds in the room are that of their breathing, of the faint murmur of the sounds from the TV. Brian would love little more than to crawl into Pat’s lap and just fuckin’... cuddle. Tuck his face against Pat’s shoulder and let Pat rub his back and be held close, for a while, lax and comfortable. He feels, though, like he’s used up all his nerve for the day.

“You okay?” Pat asks. He strokes a fingertip between Brian’s eyebrows; he must have that worried crease there.

“Just having a lot of thoughts and feelings today,” Brian says. 

“Do you need anything?”

Brian shrugs. Gives a little sigh. Wants to say _yeah Pat Gill I want you to hold me in your arms for the next month straight_ , but can’t make his mouth move.

“I dunno,” Brian says. “I kinda want to get in bed. Not, uh. I’m not soliciting you, for the record. I’m just —” He sighs. “I just kinda want to be under a bunch of blankets.”

“Do — uh.” Pat looks between Brian and the TV and the door and back to Brian again. “Do you want me there? I’m — I’m also, uh, not, um, soliciting? you. I just, uh —”

“I do,” Brian says softly, effectively cancelling Pat’s stuttering. “Do you feel any, uh. Any specific type of way about cuddling?” He looks away when he says this, but he glances quickly at Pat’s face. He’s expressive, when he’s surprised, but he puts a lid on it fast.

“I, uh. I’m open to it,” Pat says, with a little quirk of a smile. “If you’re putting that on the table.”

“Well, cuddling on the table wouldn’t be very comfortable, now would it, Pat Gill?” Brian says, glib, and sits up. “C’mon.”

There are some brief cursory awkward interactions — _do you want pajamas Pat I’m gonna change — oh I’m such a dumbass I brought a toothbrush and clothes for tomorrow but nothing to sleep in — presumptuous! hah, I’m just kidding, you can borrow something of mine_ — Pat blushes all the way down to his neck, at that, and skedaddles to go change in the bathroom.

Brian puts on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt — and then is more amused than he should be that he’s referenced his own goddamn video — and then scrambles around his room to tidy a little, because he doesn’t want Pat looking around to see that he’s left clothes he doesn’t even wear scattered around his room for his future self to deal with ever since he, like, actually lived here, and he flails around in his sleep when he sleeps alone so his blankets and pillows are everywhere.

And then there’s even more awkward social shuffling, where Pat’s clearly planned on not moving once he’s lying down (which, fair) so Brian has to go brush his teeth too and leave Pat to chill in his room by himself even though Brian certainly knows how awkward that feels when you’re not really sure what’s on the agenda so he tries to hurry.

Blessedly, finally, they get themselves situated; Pat graciously offers to be the big spoon and wraps his arm around Brian’s waist and pushes his face against Brian’s hair. He’s warm and bony; the way he’s curled around Brian, Brian can feel his rib cage against his back. Pat is the very embodiment of a gentleman; even pressed all up against Brian from shoulder to calf, he keeps his hand in a loose fist on the mattress instead of touching his chest or his stomach or wherever else.

(He sort of wishes that he wasn’t such a gentleman, he would love Pat’s hands all over him right now.)

Brian is — a tactile person. He holds it in, with people who aren’t his partners, because he has a sense of decorum, thank you very much, but he loves to be touched. He loves the warm and safe feeling of an arm around him. There is a part of him that desperately wants to tell Pat to just go for it. He’s — he’s a little more agitated than he should be for just spooning, but not, like — not like noticeable, from an external perspective, but enough that he has to actively try not to think about the fact that Pat’s dick is like right against his ass for fear of making things worse.

“You good?” Pat says, his voice quiet.

“Yeah,” Brian says. He — y’know, what the hell, he’s already here. He traces his fingertips along Pat’s inner arm, from the inside of his elbow down to his wrist. He can, wow, he can feel Pat shiver, at that. “Sorry,” he whispers, and pulls his hand away, even though he knows what a good shiver feels like. He’s not gonna push it.

“No — no, it’s okay, you’re fine,” Pat says quickly. “Just a little ticklish. Wasn’t expecting it.”

Brian does it again, then, and ends the motion by taking Pat’s hand in his and moving it to rest on his sternum, right where that tight knot of anxiety lives inside of his chest. Pat is very, very, very still; Brian hears him exhale slowly.

“Are you okay?” Brian asks.

“Yeah,” Pat says, but his voice is a little strained.

“Is this too much? Should I not —”

“No — yes — I mean — fuck,” Pat says, and pushes his head against the back of Brian’s shoulder, in what Brian is certain is a gesture of embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“You have nothing to apologize for. What’s up?” Oh, he hopes, he _hopes_.

“I’m — I just — I don’t — I don’t want to add to your shit right now,” Pat gets out.

“Pretend, then, that it wouldn’t. What’s going on?” Fuck, he wants to take Pat’s hand and press it to his lips. Drag his mouth up his wrist, graze his teeth over his skin, make him shiver like that again.

“I — Brian,” Pat says, with a note of desperation. It’s a note that would make Brian drop it, in any other situation. With any other person. If he didn’t have a very good indication of what’s causing such a tone.

“You can tell me,” Brian says. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s not gonna upset me.”

Pat takes a deep breath, obviously steadying himself. When he speaks, it’s in a whisper, against Brian’s shoulder. “I like you real fuckin’ bad and I — I feel bad doing this, without you knowing. I don’t want to — don’t want to take advantage of you, or, or something. I know you’re going through a lot right now. I don’t want to make things worse.”

“Pat,” Brian says softly. He wriggles around to look at Pat, who looks — scared and stricken and worried. “Pat, you make things better, every time, I swear. I like you too, a whole lot.”

“Oh,” Pat says, wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” Brian says gently. “Tell me what you want.”

Pat’s lips are slightly parted, in likely astonishment more than anything. “You,” he breathes. “Just you. In whatever capacity you want me, too.”

“Christ, Pat Gill,” Brian murmurs. “I’d give you anything you asked for.”

Pat makes a soft, rough sound. His eyes are so, so dark. “Brian,” he says, his voice so quiet.

“Patrick,” Brian says back, in the same register, “you just gotta ask for it.”

“I — I can’t — I don’t want to — you _just broke up with Kevin_ , I don’t want to put this on you — I shouldn’t’ve said —“

“I’m glad you did,” Brian whispers fiercely. He takes Pat’s wrist in hand. “I’m so, _so_ into you, Patrick Gill. Have been for _eons_. This — doing this wouldn’t be some hasty decision. It would be the culmination of — of my year and a half long, minimum, crush on you.”

Pat looks like he’s been struck speechless. He stares at Brian, for a long time.

And then he twists his wrist — gentle, so gentle — out of Brian’s grip and takes his hand, instead.

“Would you, maybe, want to be my boyfriend?” He’s looking at Brian’s hand instead of his face, but even the angle away can’t disguise the bare hope in his expression.

“Pat Gill, there is absolutely nothing I’d want more,” Brian says, and watches as that expression collapses into astonished relief.

Pat pulls him into a tight hug, and Brian clings to him right back. Pat’s not exactly a comfortable cuddle, all things considered; even wiggly Brian has more meat on his bones and less sharp edges than Pat. He can’t bring himself to give even the slightest amount of a damn about it, though. He slings his leg over Pat’s so that he’s holding him with the maximum amount of limbs possible from this position. Pat’s hands dig into his back a little more, like he’s trying to pull him closer, except for the fact that it’s not physically possible.

“How long,” Brian murmurs, “how long have you felt this way?”

“Least as long as you, from the estimation you gave,” Pat says. 

“God, we could’ve been doing this this whole time?”

“Apparently.”

“Goddammit,” Brian sighs, with no real malice or upset. He’s too busy snuggling his face up under Pat’s jaw. “Fuck, how are you so goddamn perfect? Could cut glass with your jawline, hot damn.”

Pat, he swears to god, _giggles_ , a little shy, and says, “Okay, but, consider: have you seen yourself? Even with that stupid mustache — you pull it off and I can’t even be mad about it. You’re amazing. You take my breath away, constantly.”

Brian gives a happy little hum and nuzzles the side of Pat’s neck. Pat doesn’t even seem to mind the contact, even though Brian knows for an outright fact that Pat doesn’t like his neck being touched. Apparently this doesn’t extend to Brian.

(Fair enough. That stipulation wouldn’t hold for Pat, either, on Brian’s end.)

“I wanna kiss you?” Brian says. “I don’t know if I wanna make out, but I want to kiss you. If you want that, I mean.”

“Fuck yeah,” Pat says softly. “Whatever you want.”

Brian pulls back just enough that he’s not under Pat’s chin. The eye contact they make when Pat’s eyes lock onto his is — intense. It feels, sometimes, like Pat has a stare that could look into your soul. Brian feels that now; he hopes he holds up to the scrutiny.

But Pat closes his eyes and presses his lips to Brian’s, so soft and gentle. Brian sighs and relaxes into the touch. It’s fully meant to be just one kiss; both of them clearly have that intent. But they start to move away and then Brian is seized with delayed _desire_ , and he kisses Pat again. And again. And again, again, again, until he stops counting and Pat has one hand splayed out at his very lower back and one hand at the back of Brian’s neck and they’re both breathing hard into each other’s mouths and Brian still has his leg over Pat’s so they’re pressed against each other everywhere and Pat rolls him a little, presses him down a little, and Brian _moans_. He doesn’t even mean to — it just happens, but Pat makes a broken desperate sound back and his hips rock against Brian. He’s so hot, literally and figuratively.

“I want you — please,” Pat says, his voice thready, needy, ragged, “please tell me what’s okay.”

“I don’t wanna fuck — not, like, full on, I mean — not in my mom’s house —"

“Fuck,” Pat says, as though he’s forgotten.

“—but this is _good_ and I wouldn’t say no to a bit of hand action, giving or receiving or both.”

“Oh god please?” Pat says, his voice catching a little, and if this is what he’s like just from a bit of making out Brian can’t _wait_ to take him apart properly. Logically, it’s probably just the culmination of so many months of want but — _fuck_. Pat seems like he should be so stoic — except when he’s not, except when he’s caught off-guard and off-script by a genuine emotion and it’s writ clear across his face, and right now his expression is so open, so vulnerable.

“Jeez, Pat Gill,” Brian says softly. “You’re hot as hell.”

Pat gives half a whimper, choked off quickly when he remembers himself. It’s so hot that Brian might perish of it.

“Kiss me,” Brian says, barely more than a breath, and in a heartbeat Pat has Brian on his back and his mouth on his and there is need burning through his whole body. He’s fully hard now — he can feel that Pat is too, through the shorts he’s borrowed — and Pat is rutting against Brian’s thigh as he kisses him like his life fucking depends on it. Brian drops his hands down to shove his shorts down Pat’s legs, and then his own — he doesn’t want cum on them, alright, sue him — and Pat hitches out a moan and hardly lets up. Brian takes the opportunity to grab Pat’s ass, to drag him in against him in rhythm with his movements.

“Brian,” Pat gasps, mouth open against Brian’s, “Brian, Brian, _Brian_ I’m gonna come if you — if I keep — if —"

“Then do it,” Brian growls, and sucks Pat’s lower lip into his mouth, releases it with a pop.

Pat outright whines and mashes his mouth against Brian’s, gracelessly, desperate, too much teeth. His movements get irregular, jerky, but Brian holds fast, keeps in counterpoint with him. His breath catches on an inhale, a shuddery two-step of a breath, and Brian feels every muscle in Pat’s body tense before he makes a sound that’s halfway to a sob and drops his head against Brian’s shoulder and rocks helplessly against Brian’s thigh as he comes.

Pat stays very, very still for a long moment and then relaxes and _sighs_ , as Brian runs his fingers through his hair. He whispers, appreciatively, _fuck_. And then, less appreciatively, “shit, goddammit, I liked this underwear.”

Brian laughs; he can’t help it. “We can give it a good ol’ college try to clean it in a little bit. You can take ‘em off, for now, if you want? Top drawer of my dresser, if you wanna borrow some.”

“That’s be great,” Pat says faintly. Brian kisses his (slightly sweaty) temple, and then Pat disentangles himself to take care of that situation. Brian stays put, his back to him to afford some privacy if he’d like it. He’s _incredibly_ turned on, jeez Louise, but he is very very very patient until Pat slides back into bed behind him, the big spoon again.

“What d’you want, baby?” Pat asks, low and quiet, and Brian’s cock twitches at that alone, Christ. 

“Gimme your hand,” Brian says, which isn’t what he was going to say, but Pat offers it. He takes it in both of his and presses his mouth to the meat of his palm. He trails slow kisses up in a line, scrapes his teeth over his inner wrist — Pat shivers again, at this — and tongues at his skin between more kisses, all the way up his forearm and back down, flicks his tongue between his index and middle finger, drags his mouth all the way up to his fingertips, with just the barest hint of teeth. 

“Fuck, if I could go again so quick that would get me, Jesus Christ,” Pat says quietly. “Goddamn. Fuck.”

“You’re gorgeous. I’d kiss you everywhere. Will you jerk me off, pretty please?”

Pat’s hand skims over his hip nigh immediately, and then rests cautiously at the waistband of his underwear.

“Yeah, go for it. Might as well leave those on, if we’re already doing laundry crisis management, rather do that with underwear than my sheets,” Brian says, half-joking, and Pat slides his hand under the fabric to take his dick in hand.

It takes all his willpower to not give a full-body twitch at the initial contact, with Pat’s long fingers — faintly slick with Brian’s spit — around his cock. He doesn’t waste time; he strokes him slow at first, explorative, clearly just feeling him and seeing what he likes, but once he’s comfortable he works him faster, more confident, and Brian gasps for air, bucking into Pat’s hand as he drives him towards the edge and past it easily, so worked up is he, and he pushes his own hand against his mouth to muffle the cry he gives when his climax hits him.

In the aftermath, Brian lays still, pushes back against Pat to cuddle close as he can as he catches his breath.

“I like you, Patrick Gill,” he sighs happily.

“I like you too, Brian David Gilbert,” Pat says, and kisses him behind his ear.

“Wanna go get cleaned up?”

“Yes _please_.”

Brian laughs, and kisses him quick before they get up.

* * *

2:35 AM | Brian David Gilbert  
hooked up w pat  
we are bfs now B)

2:36 AM | Jonah Scott  
Fuck yeah! Get itttt  
Also: TOLD YOU SO

2:36 AM | Brian David Gilbert  
>:(

* * *

They have a three-hour drive back to talk everything out quite thoroughly without being distracted by getting handsy. Pat is curious about what, exactly, his relationship with Jonah entails, and Brian is more than willing to talk at length about that.

“We dated in college. We were both, like, really intensely into each other, but then as time passed and we both chilled the fuck out in, like, a whole lot of ways, we realized that we weren’t really, like, romantically interested in each other anymore? But we still had this committed partnership and didn’t want that to change. We, uh, we do, like, do some kissing and a lot of cuddling and the occasional, y’know, fooling around, but if you’re not comfortable with that we can, like, discuss —”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Pat says. “It sounds like you have a really good thing going on there, I wouldn’t want you to change any of it on my account.”

“Thank you,” Brian says.

“Of course,” Pat says, sounding a little surprised. “I mean, it’s, it’s your relationship and your life and your body, I’m not gonna dictate how you handle any of that, y’know?”

“Man, you said you haven’t done this before?”

“I may have done some research,” Pat admits.

Brian grins at him, broad and genuine. “God, you’re great.”

“That seems like the bare minimum to me, if I’m being honest,” Pat says, running a hand through his hair.

“You’d think,” Brian says. “For my part — is there anything you’ll want from me? Like, obviously if I develop feelings for someone or want to date someone or anything like that, I’ll tell you right away.”

“I appreciate that,” Pat says, earnestly.

“Of course! Of course I would tell you, unless you specifically said you didn’t want to know. I am so into communication, Pat Gill. I also have a lot of goddamn anxiety about a lot of stuff, for the record, but it’s all stuff I’m working on really hard, and I do my best to be upfront about it.”

“It’s been ages since I’ve been in a relationship, I’m sure I’m gonna have plenty of shit to work on too. Sorry in advance.”

“Nothing to apologize for. We’re all neurotic millennials, it’s so normal.”

Pat laughs. “Okay, true.”

Brian reaches over to take Pat’s hand for a second, and squeezes it before letting go.

* * *

Pat comes up with Brian to his apartment. Laura is in the living room; she looks up, and Brian can see a physical wave of relief wash over her when she sees him wearing his coat. He’s changed it again, into a plain black zip-up hoodie, but she can sense it just like he can. She hops to her feet and hugs him.

“Did everything go okay?” she says.

“Well as it could’ve, I think,” Brian says. “Uh, so, hey, you finally get to meet Pat? Pat, Laura. Laura, Pat.”

“Mom texted me about you two,” Laura says. “She asked me if you’re dating.”

“Oh my god,” Brian groans. “She could’ve just _asked me_.”

“Are you?” Laura asks, with a shit-eating grin that says she one hundred percent knows the answer.

“Three guesses and the first two don’t count,” Brian says with a sigh.

“Good! I’m happy for you. Don’t be gross in my house.”

“It is my house too and I _will_ cuddle Pat Gill as much as I like, thank you very much,” Brian says. Pat is blushing a little; it is very incredibly cute. “Is Jonah home?”

“No, he had to work. Pat, are you hanging out?” Laura says. Pat nods. “Cool. I’ll stay out of your hair if you want to watch TV or something. Unless you’re going to hang out in your room, in which case I will continue watching all of _Good Omens_ in one sitting.”

“You have fun with that,” Brian says, and links his arm with Pat’s. Laura laughs as Brian escorts Pat off to his bedroom. To Pat, as they go, Brian says, “I’m sure Jonah will want to say hi later, but in the meantime…?”

“Anything you’d like to do, Brian,” Pat says softly, as the door to Brian’s room closes behind him.

“Good news,” Brian says. “I like _you_.”

“Oh, I hoped so,” Pat says, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> the coat.................................................................................... is a metaphor
> 
> anyway just like brian im gonna be just fine sdfkjgh. im over here writin and continuing to do my best and ending fics on puns as i am wont to do
> 
> comments and kudos make my whole day  
> @segmentcalled on twitter, comment saying who you are if you req! comments moderated as always and can be deleted if you want!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the other side of someday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838979) by [JustThePlanets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustThePlanets/pseuds/JustThePlanets)




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